Faltering Stride
by Lucinda
Summary: When Anya's wedding is called off, she turns to D'Hoffryn to help her, and ends up Somewhere Else.
1. parts 1 and 2

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

main characters: Anya, Aragorn

disclaimer; I hold no legal rights to any character, events, or situations from the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I hold no legal rights to any character, place or concept from Tolkein's Lord of the Rings. No profit is being made.

distribution: Mystifying Dreams, Twisting, Mental Wanderings, anyone else please ask first.

note: uses rumors of season 6 events. Inspired by Jinni's Week 2 Poetry Quote.

"T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee.

If ever any beauty I did see,

Which I desire'd, and got, t'was but a dreame of thee"

-The Good Morrow, John Donne

Anya had shut herself into the little dressing room, her whole body tense and quivering with emotions, and none of them were good. This was supposed to be her wedding day, the day that she would become Anya Harris, Mrs. Xander Harris for the rest of as long as they both lived. She was ready for that, properly dressed in a ceremonially ornate off-white gown sewn with pearls for fertility and lace for beauty, and voluminous enough that she couldn't run away.

Xander had run away. He hadn't shown up for his own wedding.

If he wasn't off dead or dying somewhere, she wanted to kill him. Right before she locked herself in a dark room with a lot of chocolate and tissues. She wasn't quite certain how people were supposed to deal with these feelings - anger, pain, fear, guilt, worry that it was somehow her fault, that she hadn't been enough.

"I'm sorry about all of this, Anyanka." There was a large, warm hand resting on her back suddenly, and a familiar voice as D'Hoffryn tried to offer her a measure of comfort.

She looked at him, her vision blurred by tears and her veil. "He's... Did something kill him?" Realizing that she sounded almost hopeful, Anya tried to amend her question. "Because then there would be a reason why he's not here."

Slowly, he shook his head. "No, he's not dead. Just afraid and hiding somewhere else. You deserve better than this."

"But this is my life now. I'm not a demon anymore, not... What other alternative do I have than this?" She tried to wipe at her face again, feeling more pain surge through her.

Patting her hand, D'Hoffryn pulled the veil from her hair, and for a moment stared awkwardly at the mass of shimmering gauze. "I'm not certain about an alternative to mortality. There might be... I might be able to bring you back to the fold, but... I need to double check with a few rules first. But I can give you an alternative to Sunnydale, to the Hellmouth."

"What alternative? I don't think I could cope long in Arashmahod as a human, there are too many old rivals. And most of the alternate dimensions that I found were... not too healthy." She was curious though. If he said there was an option, then there was one - it just might not be any better than the Hellmouth.

"Anyanka... you underestimate my power." He was smiling now, this smug little grin that said he had a secret. "You always sought to find dimensions that were well suited for suffering and misery. My own explorations... many of them were to recruit promising girls for our circle. I found quite a number of worlds that are... rather different from this one. Some are unwelcoming to humans, others are no more or less so than this world was, when you were mortal the first time."

"So, you could - theoretically - send me to one of these other worlds, a place that wasn't here, wasn't Sunnydale?" She had to admit that the idea sounded tempting. "Isn't there usually some sort of catch to these things?"

Chuckling, he nodded. "Indeed, there's always a catch. If I just frame the sending to be a relatively safe place, I won't be certain where it is until you get there. More than likely, you won't be able to come back here. Not unless you become one of mine again. And every world has its own dangers."

"That doesn't sound too bad, considering. I don't think that I'd really want to come back, not after... not after all of this." She tried to smile at him, uncertain how well it would work. "But would I arrive in a wedding gown, with no money, no transportation, and no weapons?"

"My dear girl, I'm not mad at you. I'm offering to help you." He reached out, touching one carefully styled lock of her hair. "If you go, you'll end up suitably garbed and equipped for wherever you land, and it should be somewhere relatively safe."

For a moment, Anya wondered if that was what she really wanted - to run away from all of this. To never see Xander again, or the Magic Box, or everyone. She looked back at the sleeves of her wedding gown, her beautiful, expensive, wasted wedding gown. How could she stay here after he'd done this to her? "I don't think I want to be here anymore. Not after..."

"Then I can send you to another place. A fresh start." He nodded, as if he'd had his own questions. "Anyanka... I wish you the best of luck in everything."

Looking up, she took a breath, preparing to thank him when everything suddenly spun around her. The air drew in, pressing against her, and everything got dark. She didn't quite pass out, but there was the strangest feeling, as if she was being simultaneously stretched out very thin and squished together all at once.

end part 1.

Gradually, the throbbing in her head subsided, and Anya realized that she could breathe normally again. She wasn't being stretched, or squished, and she wasn't in the wedding corset anymore. Even if it had done amazing things for her breasts. Instead, she was wearing some sort of pants that felt like leather, wrapped boots that went over her knees, some sort of spun shirt and a vest and belt over it. There was a short sword at her waist, and a knife in one boot. Beside her was a pack with a small net containing a wooden cup, a wooden bowl, and a wooden spoon.

"I'm back in the middle ages somehow?" The question slipped out as she sat up, running a hand over her hair. There had been leaves clinging to it, and they fell to the ground with a faint pattering sound.

Anya carefully stood up, lifting the pack after she'd regained her feet. She was in a forest. Nothing but trees as far as she could see... Oh, there was a tiny stream of water. And a man in a cloak headed towards her. Hmmm, a man in a cloak, this could be good or bad, depending on the guy.

There wasn't much point in trying to run away. He'd almost certainly seen her, considering that he was headed right towards her. She didn't know enough about where she was to have anywhere to run to. And there was the chance that if she tried to run, she'd find something dangerous.

"Who are you, and why did you come to this place?" His words were easily understood, though they carried a trace of an accent. Or perhaps it just sounded like an accent because she wasn't from around here? He was watching her carefully, a sword hilt peeking from under his cloak. Clearly, he was ready for trouble, but not trying to start it.

Looking at him, Anya realized that he was actually rather attractive, in a rather rugged and unkempt sort of way. He had the sort of stubble that was almost but not quite long enough to be a beard, and his hair fell just past his shoulders. His clothing showed signs of hard use, and he had a lot of muscle definition under them. And he was giving her this look, one that said he was going to wait until he got an answer.

"I'm Anya." She gave this little smile, the one that Willow had described as 'look at me, I'm entirely human and harmless'. "As for my arrival... it's sort of complicated. And it involved magic."

"Magic." He raised an eyebrow, and looked her over again, as if seeking some answer from the way she was dressed, or how she looked. "You were brought here by magic?"

Slowly, he began to walk around her, his attention focused on the ground and the trees. For a moment, Anya wondered why, until she saw the way that his feet were moving the leaves that covered the ground. The scruffy cloak man was looking for her trail. "There's no foot trail around you. Only... you were on the ground there, and you stood up... But you aren't elven. How did you come to be here? Why this place in particular?"

Anya sighed, and ran her hand over her hair. The elaborate wedding curls were gone, and it was just loose again. "I think it was just a mostly random relatively safe place. Unless..." For a moment, she wondered if perhaps D'Hoffryn might have been less than truthful about the randomness of her destination. Could he have known where she would go? Could he have deliberately sent her to this place? But if he could, why? "I'm not aware of any reason why I would arrive here in particular."

He made a small noise that could have been amusement as he looked at her. "Do you even know where you are, Anya?"

"Besides in a forest?" Anya looked at him, crossing her arms as she reminded herself not to glare. "No. And what should I call you?"

"You may call me Strider, and it may please you to know that I am one of the Rangers." He made an oddly elegant half bow, the movement at once at odds with his clothing and yet perfectly fitting him. "You are less than two days walk from Rivendell, the home of Lord Elrond."

"Right, two days from Rivendell, where Lord Elrond lives. That's nice to know." Anya shrugged the pack onto her shoulders, and smiled at Strider. "So, are we going there? The trees are pretty, but there's not… I'd rather not live in a slightly open spot between a few trees."

"Just like that?" He was giving her an odd look. "You aren't going to try to find a way to go back to… where you were before?"

"No!" Anya looked at him, not quite able to stop from glaring. "There's no reason for me to go back. Not that I can anyhow, I don't… I can't travel between… not like that."

"Hmmm…." It looked as if he wasn't quite certain if she was someone that could be trusted. "I suppose there's no sense in leaving you out here. Follow me, we shall return to Rivendell."

Anya followed, part of her mind wondering what sort of place this 'Rivendell' would be. The name sounded almost familiar, as if he'd heard someone mention it once and not paid any attention. Had he mentioned… yes, he had said Elven. So, she was in a place with elves. Were they nice elves, or vicious, evil nasty elves that would skewer you? Strider was apparently human, so it was pretty obvious that elves weren't the only sentients around, but what else was there? And where were they in relation to where she was, and what did she need to look out for? She was also trying to figure out if she had any magic here, and if and when it would be safe to try to find out. The whole demon thing was something that she figured would be best kept a secret.

End part 2.


	2. part 3

"So, this Rivendell is an Elven village? Or is it a city?" Anya decided that she might as well ask a few questions. He wasn't giving her the glare of 'why am I dealing with this woman' or the look of 'there are dangerous things – be quiet', so it should be fairly safe.

"The elven folk do not have cities in the human fashion." His voice was soft, so that it wouldn't carry through the forest, and he moved almost silently. As easy as he made it look, it was probably a matter of habit. "Neither do they have the same numbers as the human nations. There are several groups of elves, similar to what the humans would count as nations, and Lord Elrond is the ruler of this group."

"How well do elves and humans normally get along? Are there any other peoples that I might encounter?" She wanted to figure out what sort of rules this place had, and how much she would have to adjust to live here.

"There are hobbits off that way." One hand waved to his left, as if to indicate a direction. "They are a short, pleasant natured people, who spend a great deal of time at home, eating and being merry among their friends and family. Few of them travel far from home. The dwarven kind are a bit taller, and more somber, given more to the crafting of tools and underground halls than feasting. They occasionally trade with the elves, so you might see one of them if you stay in Rivendell. There are also the goblins and the orcs, but you would not wish to encounter them. They have been corrupted by the powers of darkness."

"So, elves, hobbits and dwarves are okay, humans are human, and goblins and orcs are bad for me. Hopefully far away." She glanced around the forest, wondering why all of this sounded vaguely familiar. Had D'Hoffryn put in a twist to tell her something about the world as well as making certain she could communicate with whoever she encountered? He must have, or else how could she understand Strider?

"What did you do before you found yourself here, Anya?" The question could have simply been an effort to change the subject, as calm as he sounded.

"I worked in a shop. I helped keep track of the inventory, and getting in new supplies, and keeping the ledger." She glanced at him, and the well worn sword, and decided not to mention the demon fighting just yet. There was no way to know how he might take that.

"How does someone who helps at a shop find herself thrown into a different place, so far away that you hadn't heard of elves, dwarves, or hobbits?" He had this annoyingly suspicious tone, as if he was convinced that she was hiding something.

For a moment, she let herself be angry, before conceding to herself that well, she was hiding things from him. Softly, she admitted, "I almost got married. But something happened, and he changed his mind, he left me. And now… now I'm here, a short distance from Rivendell. I hope that Rivendell is a very long way from Sunnydale, and it definitely sounds like it. There weren't any elves or hobbits, and the only dwarves were particularly nasty."

After that, they only spoke of the trees and the various birds and animals that they could hear around them. Small things very like squirrels gathered nuts, chattering to each other and scolding the passing humans. At a little stream, Anya saw the tracks of a rabbit. "Of course there's bunnies. There's bunnies everywhere. All it takes is just one slipping through the cracks into a world, and boom, you have teeming hordes of them."

He was definitely laughing as they kept walking.

Other than goblins, orcs, and bunnies, this place didn't seem too bad. Not yet, at least.

The path opened up, and she could see a waterfall spilling down the side of a hill. There were flowers and open areas, and after a moment Anya realized that the pretty pale stones were actually buildings. She could also see a few people moving among the stones and trees. "So, this is Rivendell, and those are elves?"

"This is Rivendell, and those are indeed, elves, Anya of elsewhere," Strider's voice was amused, and he held out his arm. "Allow me to introduce you to Lord Elrond, who is the leader of these fine people."

Lord Elrond, though of a similar height and build, was far less scruffy looking than Strider. In fact, he looked quite elegant in a not-quite human sort of way. The hue of his eyes was more jewel like than humans, and there was a bit of a point to the one ear that she could see among the long silken locks of hair. Elegant clothing that was similar to medieval nobility but at the same time completely different flowed over a body that seemed, as near as she could tell, to be in excellent shape.

Looking into those pretty eyes, Anya could see age, and pain, and the half faded sting of loss. This was a man who had lived, who had fought and suffered. Someone with a strong will and a history that was long and probably quite interesting. Someone who would not simply accept that a young seeming woman named Anya had popped out of the air in the forest and question no further.

"I'm Anya," She offered a smile and a half bow that looked nowhere near as smooth and graceful as the one Strider had made when he'd introduced himself. Of course, a curtsey would have looked ridiculous in pants, so she hadn't bothered with that, and Lord Elrond of Rivendell didn't look like the sort of guy that shook hands on introductions.

"Anya of Elsewhere?" One of Lord Elrond's eyebrows rose, and there was the suggestion of a smirk along his lips. "How did you come to be in the forest near Rivendell, traveling alone? Some urgent quest or an important message?"

"Magic seems to have been involved in her arrival, though she claims that she has no knowledge of any reason why magic would bring her so near Rivendell," Strider's words didn't quite sound like an accusation, but he didn't sound at all amused. "She was in the midst of a clearing, and none of the leaves around her had been disturbed."

"Magic?" He focused entirely on Anya, and for several long moments he just looked at her, as if he was trying to see into her, to read her mind, or perhaps her soul.

Anya felt a slight shiver as it occurred to her that she had no idea what the elves of this world were capable of. For all she knew, he could be reading her mind or soul. "I'm not the one who worked the magic to drop me into the woods near Rivendell."

"No, you are not powerful enough to bridge between worlds," His words were soft, as if perhaps they weren't directed at her or Strider as much as him thinking out loud. "You might as well remain in Rivendell for now. While you do not appear to be a danger to my people, I am somewhat puzzled about your arrival, and shall consider what to do with you."

Anya could feel her passions wanting to offer a few suggestions about what he could do with her, and she bit at her lip to keep silent. Much as she had always found men with power to be appealing, and especially when they also looked good, that was not the way to start things here. A handsome face and personal power were no guarantee that he wasn't a jerk. Despite her efforts not to offer any sort of suggestions, her stomach gave an audible gurgle in a vote for 'feed her.'

Lord Elrond gave a small chuckle, and spoke again, "Perhaps we shall start by asking you a few questions over a meal?"

With a smile, Anya agreed, "That works for me."

Shaking his head, Strider left her standing near Lord Elrond. As he walked away, his cloak flaring just a little behind him, Anya could almost swear he was chuckling.

End part 3.


	3. part 4

The food was wonderful. It sounded rather simplistic to just call it 'wonderful', but Anya couldn't find a better description. Much of it reminded her of the foods from her youth, with breads and cheeses, fresh fruits and an assortment of fruit preserves, lightly toasted nuts and skewers of herb seasoned roasted meats. There were various drinks that she couldn't quite decide if they were fruit juices or light wines, and brilliantly clear cool water. All of this on a table made of a pale, smooth stone that shimmered in the filtered sunlight and had matching benches that were the perfect height to in comfort to talk and eat without feeling squished against the table or so far from the table that food threatened to fall on her clothing. Not that her clothing was any match for the splendor of the surroundings or the feast set before them, but still…

She'd have been highly suspicious of what D'Hoffryn was up to if everything seemed too perfect too quickly.

To begin with, the conversation was nothing more complex than light words about what fruits were fresh and which preserves had been made earlier, where some of the nuts had been gathered and absent discussion of some of the herbs used to season the meat. Anya recognized some of the names, but others were strange to her, leading them to discuss what the plants looked like, where they grew and some of the other uses for them. Anya appreciated the idea of not spoiling the wonderful food with tough questions about how she'd come to Rivendell or why she'd been sent to another world. Especially not spoiling it with nasty suspicions about what she might be up to and if she might be trouble.

Just because she didn't see any dungeons didn't mean that the elves couldn't make unwelcome or dangerous visitors very uncomfortable or very dead. In fact, every civilized society that she'd ever encountered, including across multiple worlds during her experiences as a Vengeance Demon, every single one had ways of dealing with unwelcome individuals. Every single one had ways of making life miserable. Including the Shum-Nikkur who dropped the offenders into pits with furry beasts that were an awful lot like… bunnies. The mere memory of it made her shudder. These elves would have something, and she'd rather not find out anytime soon.

As pleasant as the meal was, there came a point where Anya was nibbling on a piece of bread topped with a reddish-purple berry preserve, unable to consider taking another bite of the meat, or of the heavier breads. She had a glass of a pale green drink that was slightly sweet with a hint of tartness. Across the table, Lord Elrond had his own drink, held in a creation of clear glass and bronze.

"I can tell that you possess a measure of magical power and training. Are such abilities common in your world?" His voice held a soft purr, reminiscent of a very contented cat.

"Not as common as they once were," Anya admitted. She had no idea how much he knew, but she didn't want to tell him about her time as one of D'Hoffryn's… it was he sort of news that tended to go over rather badly, often leading to those methods of dealing with unwelcome visitors.

"So the time of magic is fading in your world…" While Elrond had been gazing at her, he seemed to drift a bit in thoughts, perhaps considering the idea of a world where magic was fading, perhaps comparing the idea to something happening in this world.

"It isn't gone, not yet at least," Anya paused, and let herself think of her own youth, when every village seemed to have a wise woman to cast runes to see the future, to divine the fates of children and quests, to aid women in childbirth and cast curses on their enemies. In her own part of the world, most things had been passed from wise woman to wise woman, teacher to apprentice, with few even considering the idea of writing those secrets onto paper, wood or stone. The modern era had so many written things available, but much of the old lore was gone, vanished into the mists of the past and the realms of the dead. "Nations change, and the ways of nations who fall in battle are suppressed. With those ways go the lore of their wise women, those who know any secrets of magic. Then those nations fall, and another falls, and if the people who know happen to die before they can pass on what they knew…"

"Often, when nations fall, it is the leaders and the keepers of lore and history who are the first to go," Elrond mused. "Such things could easily lead to the loss of certain teachings, of histories, of old warnings… or the ways of power."

"Where I'm from, no nation has believed in elves for hundreds of years. I don't know of anybody that has claimed to see one in that whole world. As the years have passed, magic has fallen out of favor, first to the belief in the strength of a mortal religion and the steel of mortal weapons, and then to ways of building and making things. Clever devices, elaborate contraptions… and the amazing motivating force of money. When I was young I had no idea what people would be willing to do for a large enough amount of money…" Anya let her words trail away. Some of the most appalling things she'd seen had boiled down to the desire for money. Hearts broken, innocence despoiled, villages crushed and burned… kidnappings, threats, blackmail, maimings… What was saddest and most puzzling was that the more money someone had, the more power money held over them, the more likely they would be to be susceptible to offers of more, or to give money to hide their dirty little secrets.

"You have seen more years than most of the blood of men. Was this a part of the lore of your people?"

His words were calm, but Anya could feel the underlying strength to them, like a hidden blade or a lounging wolf.

"I knew some lore, some things that I could do with power. But mostly they were small things…" Anya sighed and sipped at the wine again. "I suppose this is where 'small things' becomes a relative term, but I wasn't even fully trained. I'd been studying with our wise woman for several years, but that wasn't enough. And then my husband… he cheated on me. It made me so angry that I did something reckless, stupid. And it changed everything."

"What sort of small things could you do?" Elrond looked curious, and his fingers brushed over a sparkling ring that he wore on his left hand.

Anya considered the ring. In twentieth century America and Europe, that could indicate that he was married. In the lands of her youth, it would only mean that he'd had the wealth and connections to buy such a ring. But everything was complicated by the fact that the ring resonated with power, more than any single object that she'd ever encountered in her many, many years. Was it a sign of his status as the leader of Rivendell? Was it a sign of wealth and prosperity, as things would have been in her youth? In which case, the elves here eclipsed any group of magic users that she'd ever encountered. Was it something that he had made, and if so, why? Was it a sign of his personal abilities, and if so, what abilities did it represent?

"I could tell if things had been poisoned, or if they carried a disease. I could make healing herbs work more effectively. Sometimes I could use things that belonged to someone to find them, but not always. I could tell if things held power," Anya shrugged, and hoped that things weren't going to get ugly.

"Were such abilities wide spread among your people?" Elrond asked.

"Mmmm. Some people could sense the energy patterns, and that's what the Wise Women looked for in their students. Often, those abilities ran in families, but not always. Or maybe they skipped enough generations that we didn't know they were coming through a family line. It was never what you'd call common, but hardly rare."

"It is only reasonable that such things would follow family lines, and that not everyone in a family would have them," Elrond nodded, the hand with the ring raising to cup his chin.

Anya sat at the table that was still laden with foods, and looked around at the elven settlement. It didn't look like the cities that she was used to, and she had no idea how far it extended, since the buildings seemed to rise out of the ground, to slip out of trees, to vanish into the ground and forest at any distance. There could be dozens, or hundreds, or even thousands of elves.

"Is it difficult for you to sense an objects magic?" Elrond spoke again.

"That really depends on the object and the amount of magic. Just sitting here, I can't tell about the table or the benches, though they are very nicely crafted. I thought there was something on the cloak that the ranger – I believe he called himself Strider – was wearing, and something at his belt had a little bit, my guess would be healing magics. The only thing I'm sure about is that ring on your finger." Anya pointed at his hand, figuring that there was no way that anyone with the first hint of ability to detect magic could possibly miss that. If she didn't mention it, he'd have to wonder what else she wasn't admitting to, and then things could get ugly. "Not that I have the first clue what it does. But it has a lot of magic to it."

"And if I were to tell you that this ring is a symbol of my authority here in Rivendell?" something in his eyes suggested that there was a great deal more to the ring than a simple badge of authority.

Anya gave a little smile, deciding that if that was how he wanted to play things for now, it was probably safer not to argue. "Then I'd have to say it's a very distinctive sign of status."

"I think you will be a most memorable guest, Anya. May you enjoy your stay in Rivendell," his smile suggested more than a little amusement.

Smiling, Anya could only accept his words and hope that he meant them, "Thank you, Lord Elrond. It looks lovely."

End part 4.


	4. part 5

Anya found herself installed in a guest room in Lord Elrond's home. Considering that it was a good distance away from his, and while she had yet to see anything that wasn't nice, the room was hardly palatial, she even suspected that while he might not trust her and almost certainly was having her watched, it was probable that he wasn't intending to demand sexual favors from her in exchange for the lodging. Then again, he was handsome, appeared to be in good health, and had power – someone like that would only be without sexual companionship if they chose to go without.

She was permitted to wander about Rivendell in her free time, and he hadn't spoken of any areas being forbidden, only mentioning that sometimes the spray from the waterfalls left the bridges a bit slippery, and she should be mindful of her footing. There was also the basic fact that in most cultures, it would be rude to wander into someone else's house, and Anya had no intention of wandering in to the homes of elves of still unknown magical ability but an impressive assortment of weapons that she'd caught glimpses of here and there. She was also being followed… not just one elf, and she hadn't been able to figure out if it was by the command of Lord Elrond or out of their own curiosity, but whenever she left the house, she picked up a mostly unseen follower. Having seen the elven women, she rather doubted that they just wanted to stare at her attractive, for a human, body.

They were all so pretty. It wasn't fair, and she recalled that being one of the things that was always mentioned in the stories her people told of elves – whispers of their inhuman beauty, of their grace, of the strength that belied their apparent frailty. Beautiful, strong, living either forever or for a very long time, and magical… It must be splendid to be an elf. Of course, she was human, or mostly human.

"My father finds you intriguing. Father never describes humans as intriguing, only various degrees of trouble or tedium," the voice came from an elven woman with long dark hair and an outfit that seemed intended for traipsing through the woods while still looking impossibly pretty. Her features held enough similarity to Lord Elrond to give Anya a very good idea just who her father might be.

Proving Xander and Buffy wrong, Anya exercised a shred of tact and didn't ask where this elven woman's mother was, or if her father was currently available. "I've been told that I'm unique."

Taking a few steps closer, the elven woman gave Anya a thoughtful look. "What is so unique about one human woman?"

Choking back the urge to insist that this 'one human woman' had spent a thousand years inflicting well-deserved pain, she gave a shrug and a half smile, "Maybe I amuse him. Maybe it's the fact that I know a little about magic. Maybe he's plotting out things to do to my fragile body…"

"My father does not harm his guests," the woman pulled herself up as tall as she could, the better to give Anya a condescending glare.

"Now who's jumping to interesting thoughts? I didn't say he was up to anything bad," Anya smirked at the woman. If she was Lord Elrond's daughter that would make her Arwen, who kept being compared to the evening star, and who maybe had feelings for the Ranger Strider. "I spent seven hours discussing herbs and medicinal plants with a group of elves yesterday. The day before was a three hour tour that didn't involve boats or islands but did involve slippery bridges, bushes with lovely flowers and wicked thorns, and the bakery of wonderful little pastries that are probably horribly fattening. I mentioned having some familiarity with weapons, he might want to test that. He might decide I need a more complete tour of Rivendell. Someone might decide to see if I can fall off one of the horses."

Anya didn't voice her thoughts that he could be planning to take advantage of her. She'd had more than a few smutty daydreams about Lord Elrond. One had featured the table where he'd offered lunch and a mild interrogation – the daydream had turned it into lunch with passionate sex on the table as desert. Or the one about him waking her up in the middle of the night by slipping between the blankets naked – a perfect match for how she slept. Or there was one where she was swimming beneath the waterfall, and he showed up, leading to them having sex beneath the waterfall… that might be pushing things a bit too far. Especially since she didn't know if he was married, in mourning, or if expressing such thoughts could lead to some horrible painful fate.

With a sigh, the elven woman murmured, "I suppose those things could lead to injuries to humans."

"Thus far, Lord Elrond has been a splendid host, and I have nothing to complain about besides the difficulty of catching a whole town's worth of gossip in the past few days, especially when many of the people aren't gossips, nobody's making a deliberate effort, and I still don't know the faces that go with most of the names," Anya sighed. "You probably know that I'm Anya."

Smothering a chuckle, the elven woman spoke, "And I am Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond. Perhaps you could endure a brief tour, where I identify some of the people with names and what they do in Rivendell?"

Anya considered the offer. On the surface, it sounded like Arwen wanted to help her settle in, to learn who was who here in what might become her new home. Slightly deeper and it became the perfect way to not only watch where Anya was but what she was doing, as well as giving Arwen a chance to form her opinion of Anya based on direct observation. If Arwen was a malicious person, it would be the perfect chance to cause Anya later problems by giving her faulty information, even if she was subtle about it and just left out vital bits. If she was malicious and direct, she might lure Anya off somewhere private and kill her, leaving her body out for the bunnies… But Anya doubted that Arwen was planning to kill her. Mustering a smile, Anya replied "I think I could manage another tour."

The tour began, with some of the less formal bits of history of some of the places, like the story about how the baker had been forced to replace his oven when his grandson had chased a pair of puppies through the kitchen and managed to collapse the old one, or how the owner of the apple orchard had kept hiring guards to find out where the apples were going only to discover the guards eating them. Another story was of an elven woman named Meillannai who had a habit of adorning her clothing with needlework in shades of yellow and gold, or of Silluiwen's misadventures with beekeeping.

She pointed out Wensaillon of the silver harp, and his sister Lluthnawien, who Arwen called one of the best singers in Rivendell. The tour also gave Anya a face to match to the stories of Amrelleth the fisher, who had been most skilled at finding pearls before they had come to this place, and had the ability to swim almost as well as any fish. With a teasing smile, Arwen also identified the keeper of the horses and when might be a good time to talk to him about finding a gentle, calm horse to ride.

Anya also noticed how the people of Rivendell seemed to love Arwen. It wasn't a love expressed in gushing words or frequent gifts, but in fond smiles, in the way people seemed to watch out for her, with little warnings about slippery bridges or muddy paths. This helped reassure Anya about Arwen's intentions – the people of Rivendell seemed to be fairly nice, and nice people didn't love someone like that unless they also seemed nice.

She also learned that the Ranger Strider was better known by a completely different name inside of Rivendell, either called the Dúnadan or by a name that sounded like Estelle, which Anya had only heard before as a woman's name. Once again, she used the tact that nobody in Sunnydale believed she possessed and did not mention that she'd only heard Estelle used as a woman's name before. Considering Arwen's soft sighs whenever he was mentioned, by whichever name, Anya was prepared to believe that Arwen did indeed have feelings for him. He was fairly attractive, and had that rugged charm going for him, she could certainly see the appeal. Anya suspected that either Lord Elrond didn't see the appeal or he just flat out didn't approve. Regardless, Anya decided not to ask about why Elrond disapproved of his daughter with the Ranger just now.

Anya didn't plan to ask about the maybe relationship between Arwen and the Ranger at all. Really. It wasn't any of her business, and prying could get her into trouble.

But after one too many times of watching Arwen sigh at the mention of him and the way the elven woman's cheeks colored when she tried not to be caught staring at the man, Anya couldn't help herself. "I've been in Rivendell for four days and I can tell that you have feelings for the man. Why haven't you made a move on him? If he's as wonderful as you think he is, someone will eventually go after him, especially if he travels as much. Women in other places won't know or care that you have feelings for him, they'll see the yummy Ranger and want some."

"I… things are complicated," Arwen blushed.

"Your reasons why might be. The facts aren't. He looks tempting. Other women will think so as well and someone's going to act on that temptation eventually." Anya gave Arwen a look, "I might be human, but that doesn't make me a fool, or blind."

"My father would not approve of me developing feelings for someone who lacks the immortality of the elves," Arwen whispered.

Shaking her head, Anya tried not to growl, "The feelings are already there. Elves may or may not be immortal, and he's probably not, but that won't keep you from having those feelings. Which would you rather have – the rest of your immortal life wondering what might have been, or the rest of your life having memories of what was?"

"He is concerned that I might regret choosing someone of a mortal span," Arwen murmured. "His concern only makes me love him more."

"So you love him. Obviously your feelings are there regardless of his mortality," Anya pointed out, ignoring the cautious part of her that was insisting that the love-life or lack thereof for Arwen was none of her business. "In the long term, the lifespan difference could matter. But if you love him, and are sure that you love him, then why haven't you acted anyhow? There are ways to let a man know that you aren't worried about that."

"My father refuses to give his blessing until such time as the lands of Gondor and Arnor are united under the Line of Isildur," Arwen sighed.

"Gondor and Arnor are other nations?" Anya asked, trying to follow this explanation. Either there was some sort of deeper political game going on, or Lord Elrond had chosen a fancier version of 'when pigs fly' or 'when hell freezes over' to answer his daughter's would-be romance.

"Yes. They were once part of the nation ruled by the House of Númenor, the last of which was Isildur," Arwen offered. "The nations are of strained relation now, and they are unlikely to reunite peacefully."

"So is there an heir to the line of Isildur? If so, just find some magic users and political advisors, figure out a way to unite the leadership of Gondor and Arnor… It might take some time, a bit of magic and a lot of politics, but it should be possible," Anya shrugged.

"There is one surviving heir to Isildur's line. And those nations are unlikely to accept a Ranger to rule over them, no matter how charming I find him," Arwen sighed.

Anya sighed. Love was just so… Sweet and inspiring and troublesome and sticky and the reason why she'd spent a thousand busy years granting vengeance. "Did your father say that he had to accomplish it all on his own?"

Arwen blinked at her, and for a moment her expression revealed only shock "… no."

"So figure out a way and help him accomplish it, or give up and try to develop feelings for someone that your father will approve of you marrying." Anya figured that if something like that hadn't already occurred to Arwen, subtle was right out and she'd best put it bluntly. Anya was good at blunt.

"Easier said than done," Arwen murmured, her expression becoming thoughtful. The sort of thoughtful that suggested she might actually be trying to plan out how Gondor and Arnor could be united under Strider's rule.

"Often the things that are worth having aren't easy to have," Anya countered. "Is he worth the work?"

Arwen's gaze took on the distracted little smile of someone lost in pleasant daydreams. Anya figured that answered the question without any need for words. Arwen seemed convinced that Strider was worth it. Anya found herself hoping that things worked out for them.

End part 5.


	5. part 6

Rivendell was a beautiful place. A part of Anya was tempted to just enjoy it, lounge around doing little beyond listening to gossip and devouring the wonderful cooking. Except that she knew that she wouldn't be permitted to just enjoy things like that forever. Every older society, everything without a concept of 'welfare funds' expected each person in a community to do something to entitle them to the continued resources that ensured their survival. Being the unexpected novel guest would eventually wear away,, leaving her with the need to do something. Before that happened, she wanted to have options. Decent ones.

Anya had been learning where things were located in and around Rivendell, learning who made what crafted goods or prepared foods, who were the entertainers and healers and trainers of skills with weapons and music and the various ways of guarding and protecting their home. She talked to the people that knew plants, matching plants that she knew to the names used here, some of them proving to be plants that she'd known under other names while other plants were entirely new to her. Various pleasant tests of her skills had shown that she was a decent but not exceptional rider of horses, skilled with a small boat, considered 'passable' with blades and bow, and 'not completely inept' in the woods. Her habit of going hunting with some of the younger elves and shooting at nothing but 'evil, foul natured bunnies' caused much amusement, though the bunnies near Rivendell made fabulous eating.

On the days that were rainy, which were not that uncommon, Anya found things to do inside. The first couple times, she'd talked with one of the elven healers about proper care of wounds. After a while, she'd found Lord Elrond's library. She was delighted to discover that she could read the current elven writing, though she could tell from looking at the older writings that the language had changed over time. She didn't know how much time. Some things were close enough that she could get the main ideas and some of the details but not everything, which would be fine for some sorts of writings, but not for others. Older materials were… well, at first she'd thought it was a completely different language. Only comparing the writings had let her figure out that it was and wasn't a different language – it wasn't the language of one of the other elven nations, it was old elven, as opposed to middle elven or modern elven.

She hadn't been surprised that the maps gave not the slightest hint of anything that looked familiar to any of the lands that she'd lived in. Though she had found Gondor and Arnor on the maps. She'd also found Rivendell, and the nearest other places, which she thought were human cities and villages, and a place listed as 'the Shire' that might be the 'over there' where the hobbits lived. Whatever hobbits were.

"I had heard that you came here during the rains," the voice of Lord Elrond came from behind Anya.

Anya turned to face the elven lord, a small smile on her face. "As lovely as Rivendell is, I'd rather not slip and injure myself in the rain, or catch a fever from wandering around in wet clothes."

He walked closer, his gaze taking in the opened scrolls on the table in front of her. A pair of histories and a map, one that showed the lands once held by Isildur. "There are few among the humans who read. My understanding is that such skills are seldom taught to the mortal women."

"You forget that I didn't spend my youth in these lands. You can't judge based on what things are normal here," Anya reminded him. She didn't want to admit that a woman being able to read would have been very bit as unusual in the places where she had been young, or for most of her existence. Explaining that, or when she'd learned, would lead right into the whole former justice demon aspect, and she still thought she'd be safer if nobody knew about that. "Of course, I can tell that the written language has shifted, and I can't read the older scrolls."

"The more I learn about you, the more unusual you seem to be," he shook his head, settling into the other chair at the table.

Anya shrugged, "Sometimes ordinary is boring, and boring rarely helps."

"I find myself doubting that you could ever be boring. Did something in particular prompt your choice of reading materials?"

There could be several reasons for the little smile on his face as he spoke to her. Anya let the possibilities cross her mind, as well as letting herself wonder which she'd prefer, and if they might not be so bad. The smile could mean that he was planning something for her future – possibly unwelcome, if she didn't like his plans. It could have been amusement – oh look, it's a literate woman. It might have been that he was pleasantly surprised by her ability to read. Perhaps he had a little fantasy running through his mind about pushing her up against one of the shelves – or backwards onto the table – and ravishing her body until they were both delightfully exhausted and covered with a fine sheen of sweat and pheromones. Or it could be something else entirely.

Deciding that it was best not to guess right now about why he was smiling, or to spend too much time with that daydream about being ravished in the library, Anya sighed. Gesturing towards the map, she offered "I've heard a couple people use the phrase 'when Gondor and Arnor reunite' when they were talking. Sometimes things like that are just a fancy way of saying never, but I was curious about the origin of the saying. Which led me here, to histories and maps."

"There is a good deal more to the matter than old history and maps," his words were quiet, and while he was facing the map, it didn't seem like he was really looking at it.

Anya wondered if he knew about the rest of it from personal memory, or stories passed from his ancestors. If the 'more' was a sad story about the descendants proving unable or unwilling to keep what their ancestors had gained, or if it was a tragic tale of loss and betrayal and death. If there had been illness, or poison or madness. She didn't ask, but did make a curious noise, the sort that wasn't quite a word, could be ignored if he didn't feel like talking, but if he did, if he wanted to explain, that sound could easily be taken as 'tell me more'.

"The matter involves very old, very dark history. Many lands and peoples suffered. It was the time of a great alliance between men and elves, a time that shall likely never be repeated. We united against a danger far more terrible than any simple matter of politics or borders, and faced terrible powers and odds. There were many who suffered, many who perished, and many who were denied the mercy of death. I pray that this world never faces such evil again," his words were barely more than a whisper.

Over a thousand years of watching suffering and pain in countless variations had taught Anya to recognize old pain when she heard it. Elrond had suffered because of those dark and terrible times. It wasn't a matter old family stories passed down through generations that lived far longer than humans – he had the haunted tone of someone who had been there, had experienced the fear and pain and misery of that war. Maybe not as the Lord of Rivendell, but he had been there. And he didn't like the memories of what he'd seen. As a general guideline, anything that lived that long tended to be very powerful.

"So, tell me a little about something completely different. Rather than those ugly times, tell me…" Anya paused, searching for something harmless to ask about while she rolled up the scrolls that had brought up those memories for Lord Elrond. "Tell me about that tree in the garden, the one with the pretty flowers. Or the reason that Aradeill keeps laughing every time someone offers Beramoith a berry tart."

As he began an amusing story about a younger Beramoith drinking too much wine and attempting to juggle, Anya decided that she'd have to find someone else to explain to her about this alliance of men and elves that had fought in some huge war. It was obviously a big event in history. The sort of event that changes the map, destroys empires and creates new nations from old. The sort of thing that breeds suffering and betrayal and vengeance… The sort of thing that it could be disastrous not to know about. But she'd ask someone else, someone that didn't get that haunted look.

The idea of making Elrond talk about something that held such painful memories felt wrong. Not just because he had all sorts of power in this situation. But it would feel… cruel. It felt a little like some of that moral fiber and compassion that Xander and his friends had talked about. How unsettling.

As she listened to him talk about Beramoith's amusingly unfortunate efforts at juggling, Anya could feel herself smiling. She could also feel herself developing an interest in Elrond that went far beyond the simple hormonal urge to push him down on the table – now free of delicate scrolls and maps – and have her passionate way with him. She was starting to get an emotional attachment… starting to get fuzzy feelings for him.

Oh, this could go very badly for her.

She wasn't certain if she wanted to know if he had a similar interest in her. If he had feelings and interests, even if only limited to passionate daydreams set in the library, across the lovely stone table, or under the waterfalls, or any of the dozens of places that Anya had set for smutty imaginings. She couldn't figure if it would be better if he felt no more than a passing curiosity about her and her past, or if he might have the same frustrating urges and longings and wistful considerations of a something more. What didn't help was the new certainty that in this world, elves lived a very, very long time, and were beings of great power. And she was… mostly human, mostly mortal.

End part 6.


	6. parts 7 and 8

Over the next few days, Anya tried to push away that seed of unwelcome emotion. To smother or drown it before it could grow from a tiny bit of emotional interest – as opposed to purely hormonal and passionate – into an emotionally strangling mess. She'd seen all too much of what that sort of intense passion could lead to, even setting aside her own experiences with Olaf and Xander. A thousand years of vengeance and pain spoke volumes for heartache.

Instead, she tried to learn more about Rivendell. To learn more stories about why people would be teased about berry pies or yellow flowers. She threw herself into relearning how to cook with wood-fire ovens, clay encasing before burying in hot coals, and in pots or spits over open flames.

"After all, I can't go back to where I was before. My future is in this world, perhaps in Rivendell, perhaps elsewhere. I need to be able to seize that future with both hands and survive it," Anya had explained.

Anya didn't limit herself to refreshing her memories of how to cook without the technological conveniences of Sunnydale, like gas stoves or electricity, refrigerators and microwaves. She would need to sew fabric into clothing, or at least mend things once she had them. She spent a bit of time helping some elven weavers, making the most of her time by using a few leading questions to get them to start talking about things. Weaving was always better with gossip, and if she were to stay in this area, she needed to know who had what skills, who didn't get along with who, what the local causes of arguments and friction might be. Perhaps no less important would be things about who was courting who, how well those possible matches would be received among the community…

A weaver gowned in pale greens snickered over the way that Arwen could get so dewy eyed about that handsome Ranger and still not realize that her affections were clear to anyone that beheld her.

A weaver in pale gold countered, "You should see the way she reacts when someone else smiles at him. Like a cloud blocking the sun, and then she gets quiet, as if she thinks that without speaking of it, nobody will know that she is not pleased.

"But her father does not approve. Not even with him being of the Dunedain instead of the more common, fleeting humans," offered a weaver in dark blue. "Arwen does not know if she will cross her father's will, or the desires of her heart."

"Either path offers sorrow," mused a woman clad in grey, embroidered with light blue and silver.

Anya took a breath, and then asked, "How many sorts of rude would it be to ask what Arwen's mother thinks about the situation?"

"Ohhh… that's a tragic tale in its own right," sighed the gold-clad weaver. "The fair Celebrain departed over the sea before the handsome Estel could be born. She never had the chance to meet the one her daughter has chosen."

Anya blinked, considering the elf-woman's words. Elves seemed to use the phrases 'departed over the sea' or 'passed through the Grey Havens' for those who weren't here anymore. It sounded remarkably like a way to refer to the dead, without using the word 'dead.' While she still didn't understand how Strider the handsome and very masculine Ranger could have found himself with such a feminine nick-name, she wasn't going to worry about that. The key point, Elrond's wife who had been Arwen's mother was gone, dead unless there was something entirely different about these elves. Likely dead, certainly gone where nobody returned from… meaning that if anything happened, it wouldn't result in a jealous wife.

Blast it all, she needed to stop hoping for things to happen. The fact that he was handsome, and rich, and powerful, and handsome, powerful, and somewhat available didn't mean that she had a chance. Listening to these women talk had made it clear that one of the obstacles for Arwen and her handsome ranger was the fact that Arwen was an elf, and Strider wasn't. Elrond was an elf, and Anya wasn't – wasn't even a highly respected and skilled member of their community the way Strider seemed to be. Why should she have any better chance than their relationship?

"As much as Lord Elrond does not seem to approve, has he forbidden their pledge?" asked the grey-clad weaver.

"When I was speaking to Arwen the other day," Anya hesitated, suddenly unsure if there should be some sort of respectful title for Arwen, "She said that her father refused to give his blessing until… let me make sure I remember this right… Until such time as the lands of Gondor and Arnor are united under the Line of Isildur."

"Ohhhh," the gold clad weaver sighed over her threads. "Such a sad thing. Those lands have been sundered for generations."

"Not encouraging, but hardly the same as an outright refusal," countered the weaver in dark blue. "It may well be that Lord Elrond has offered those words as a challenge, that our princeling prove himself worthy and devoted to Arwen before they might wed. How many legends and songs have quests to prove a handsome man worthy of his lady-love, or to win her family's blessing? If they want to be together enough to reshape the politics of the lands of men, then how could he deny them?"

"If they want to be together that much, would his refusing to give his blessing even matter?" Anya murmured.

"Things would certainly be easier with the support and approval of her family," sniffed the weaver in gold.

"But there have been those who pledged and wed without the support of their families. Those tales tend to have happier endings if the families don't object enough to feud or war over the couple," the grey weaver chuckled, "Of course, the ones that don't end with a happy couple being together and raising a family are so much more interesting to listen to…"

Anya couldn't argue with that idea. Stories about blood, anger, vengeance and desperate efforts to escape, destroy, or survive were always more interesting than 'and they lived happily ever after', though she supposed that 'and they lived happily ever after' might be more enjoyable to experience. She considered some of the many, many, many couples that she'd seen over her centuries. "Meaning no offense to either of them, but… Are they likely to try to reunite those lands, or are they likely to moon about, talking about their tragic love that is denied, and how wonderful things could be if only. I've seen some people who would far rather linger around talking about their tragic forbidden love rather than do something to make it happen."

The woman in blue chuckled, "I've seen more than a few of those as well. Sometimes it is a sign of youth, and they grow out of that in a hundred years or so."

"He isn't one for mooning about and talking about how tragic his life is, or looking sorrowful and mourning that which can never be. I think he's likely to do something, and as smitten as he is with the lovely Arwen, he'll go off to try to fix things," mused the weaver in the pale green dress.

Anya nodded, thinking that she really needed to figure out these women's names. "Any ideas how that will go?"

"It could become a tale of bravery, courage, love and devotion changing the world, with love triumphant and a happy ending. Or it could wind up with another love-struck would-be hero traveling out to win his fair lady and dying horribly," the woman in blue shook her head, dark hair twitching around her ankles. "I think that we've seen enough tragic endings that we'd prefer the sweet happily ever after."

Anya could understand that as well. Perhaps it was time to have a few words with this Strider the Ranger, a name that she preferred to Estel for the very manly man. And maybe a few more words with Arwen to meddle just a bit…

End part 7.

Anya wandered around the woods near Rivendell, searching for Strider. He was somewhere near the settlement, but everyone that she asked kept saying that they'd seen him just a bit ago, or that he should be by later. Frustrating man.

More frustrating was that after several hours of searching for him, and shooting an evil bunny to roast for lunch, he just sauntered right into the clearing where her bunny was roasting. As if there was nothing wrong. Smiling.

Anya gave him a small glare, "You can be a very frustrating man. And difficult to find."

"My heart and my pledge belong to the lady Arwen," his voice was calm as he settled across the fire from her. "Why have you been seeking me?"

"Despite your rugged manly appeal, I'm not planning to seduce you away from your elven lady," Anya hid a smile as he choked at her blunt words.

"Ahh… thank you?" he stammered.

Bewildered rangers, Anya decided, were rather cute – in a rugged and masculine way. The way that he clearly had no idea how to predict what she would do was amusing. Gesturing at the roasting rabbit, Anya spoke again, "Have some rabbit. I've been assured that even among the elves, sharing food is acceptable, polite and not sexually compromising between conspirators."

"Are we conspiring together?" he produced some bread from under his cloak, and offered her a portion. "What might we be conspiring to accomplish?"

"It seems that Lord Elrond will not give his blessing to the idea of you and Arwen marrying until such time as the lands of Gondor and Arnor are united under the appropriate leadership. Since only a small child or a fool would rely on currently independent nations combining to make their life easier, outside forces will need to make those lands reunite. As the ones who would most immediately benefit, I think part of those outside forces should be you and Arwen. Unless the pair of you have decided that making sweeping political changes to secure outside approval is too much work and have opted to either elope together in defiance of her father or to give up and select mates with less demanding relatives, you two have the most to gain from those changes. As a long-time meddler, I'm going to help you. You become an influential king, you have your beautiful wife, and the pair of you live happily after lives together." Anya nodded to herself, figuring that her explanation should make sense to him.

"How does this plan benefit you?" he asked, carving at the rabbit with a knife. He offered the first slice to Anya.

"Honestly, I can't be certain of a long-term welcome here in Rivendell. I need to plan ahead for if and when that welcome runs out. While I've had a few thoughts, none of them have enough support to be more substantial than pleasant dreams at the moment. Once you become a king, you'll have a lot that you're responsible for managing. Kings need advisors, and not all of those should have the same background and viewpoint. When you become king, your council should include a few sensible women, and a small child." Anya wondered which obvious question he'd ask first.

"And you think that you could become one of those sensible women," That wasn't a question. Carving off another slice of rabbit, he asked, "Why a small child?"

"A child old enough to listen through long meetings and young enough that they'll point out the glaringly obvious gaps in explanations. Things like… oh, who keeps track of the tax money, or what does this person do, or if all of the catapults are aimed at the front gate, who's watching the back door? The big obvious things that grown-ups don't always see, and even less often mention. Young enough not to be quiet because it's rude to point out the rich advisor or the powerful general's failings in public. Young enough not to care if it's the king's plan with a big gap in it." Anya wondered if anything else from the often-amusing and highly practical list of tips for evil overlords – and why was such a simple, obvious resource always ignored? – might be useful for her in this world.

"The blunt and occasionally unwelcome honesty of a child," he smiled, and looked at her. "I can see the wisdom of that."

"Arwen said that her father wants those lands reunited before he'll give his blessing. He didn't say that you had to do it alone." Anya felt quite pleased by the look of surprised pleasure on Strider's face. She didn't mention that meddling for good, or at least, not for vengeance, felt rather nice. Warm and fuzzy.

"Perhaps that is another example of pointing out the gaps in plans and assumptions," Strider mused. "When kinsmen set challenges to prove a suitor's worth, it is traditional for them to be challenges met alone. Of course, they are also normally such things as the slaying of a great beast, or the retrieval of long-lost heirlooms."

"If you had the power to reshape national politics on your own, would he dare oppose your relationship?" Anya resisted the urge to gloat and dance. There would be time for that later, when there would be no witnesses.

Strider chuckled, "Lord Elrond? I think he might. He is a very stubborn elf, and one used to being responsible in the face of grave opposition."

"Does this tie in to the very old and obviously unpleasant to Lord Elrond stories about the… Major Alliance of Men and Elves? Did I get the name right?" Anya frowned, trying to remember the phrasing.

"The Great Alliance, and yes." Strider paused, carving more slices of rabbit for them both. "What do you know of those times?"

"They were long ago, he was there, the memories are ugly, painful, and he doesn't want to talk about them. And whatever happened changed the political maps," Anya summarized.

"The Alliance came about due to a dreadful darkness that sought to take control of the fate of the world and all the races. Sauron, with his stronghold in the heart of Mordor, and his armies of goblins and orcs. I am not one of the great musicians, or the best student of history, but I can tell you some of the stories," Strider offered.

Yes," Anya looked at him, wondering just how much he knew, and if there were any other big connections that might be useful for her. "Please."

Storytime began, covering the Great Alliance of Men and Elves, the bloody battles, the slow desperate retreats, the feeling of near-hopelessness as it seemed that there was no way to defeat such a powerful enemy with so many powerful forces. Armies of goblins and orcs that never seemed to suffer the diminishment from the battle-casualties that plagued the men and elves – what did he do, keep a stock of dehydrated minions in a spare room in his evil fortress? Scary powerful undead sorcerers bound to his will by magic rings. Bravery, courage, valiant yet painful deaths…

"Wait a minute, what's this about him calling Isildur his kinsman? Wasn't Isildur the king of Gondor and Arnor? Your many generations great grandfather?" Anya blinked, trying to keep the tales straight in her head. "How is he connected to Elrond, other than a common foe in this great war?"

"Elrond and his brother Elros Tar-Minyatur were twins, and carried botht he blood of the elven-kind and of a line of respected mortal chieftains. The Valar gave them the choice to be counted among the men or among the elves. Elrond chose to be among the elves, and his brother among the men, and so Elros became the first king of the Númenor. Isildur, ruler of Gondor and Arnor, was one of the generals of the Alliance. While they defeated Sauron, Isildur was slain on his journey home, and eventually his kingdom was sundered," Strider explained.

"And there were a lot of generations between you and Isildur," Anya murmured.

"Quite a few," Strider agreed.

Anya didn't mention that Elrond having a bit of human ancestry made a few of her ideas for maybe-futures seem a little less impossible. They had gone from near-impossible for anything other than maybe an enjoyable affair to still highly unlikely to be possible, with even the passionate affair as not too plausible. The histories also suggested a few more possible motives for Elrond's difficult challenge. Ensuring that his daughter would be well-provided for if Arwen and Strider married – kings could provide all sorts of things. Having his many-many greats nephew restored to the power and prominence that his family had once held. Strengthening family ties – human history was full of cousins related far more closely than Arwen and Strider wedding for political ties and profit. It might even be that he wanted Strider to work for Arwen to make certain that they both appreciate things more, after all, how many appreciated the good things that just fell into their hands?

"This will give you and Arwen something to talk about before you have your restored kingdom and wedding to occupy your time," Anya grinned. "I'm sure that she can help with the planning and the details."

Strider grinned, ducking his head in an effort to hide the faint blush over his face.

Anya doubted he needed much encouragement to spend time with Arwen.

End part 8.


	7. part 9

Anya made her way back into Rivendell, still in her good mood. Granted, she wasn't sufficiently skilled in any trade to do more than scrape by as an assistant within Rivendell, and she couldn't be assured of a long-lasting welcome. But her meddling with Arwen and Strider the Ranger seemed to be going well, and it was so cute to watch him blush and squirm.

Of course, story-time with the handsome yet scruffy Ranger had left her with all sorts of questions. Questions that might be answered in Lord Elrond's library, if the right scrolls were in modern elven instead of middle or old. Middle she could muddle through enough to get a better idea of things. Old elven left her baffled.

"A good history scroll that I can read…" Anya looked along the shelf. It didn't help that the library was organized completely different from any system that she was familiar with using.

"You seem far too pleased with yourself to merely be searching for a history scroll. What else have you been up to, Anya?" the voice of Lord Elrond interrupted Anya's searching.

"I'd ask why you suggest that I could be up to anything, and accuse you of having a suspicious mind, but…" Anya shrugged. He had a good point, and she had been up to things. "Would it help if I said that I only mean things that won't make your life more difficult, and that those meddling aren't too much of why I'm in your library?"

"Why are you in the library?" He moved closer, watching her with a half-smile.

Anya shrugged, "I asked questions, and there was long and slightly tangled story time from someone who isn't a historian. I thought I might find a nice history in modern elven to fill in some of the fuzzy areas."

"Where does the meddling come into this?" Elrond asked.

For a few moments, Anya considered playing ignorant. Then she considered trying to distract him by dropping her dress and pouncing on him, right there against the shelves. Tempting, but… he'd still probably ask questions, and she didn't know if the blunt approach for seduction would work. It seemed that the only route would be honesty, though maybe not full and complete disclosure. "You apparently won't give your blessing to Arwen and her Ranger until two separate nations reunite. I pointed out that they could work together to make that happen, if they actually want to be married and happy."

"Why?" he moved closer, pulling a few scrolls from a shelf. "Your future happiness is not tied to theirs."

"I've noticed the way they watch each other. With that suggestion, either they do something about it, or they decide that it's too much work, and try to find someone else, someone easier to have. Either way, it'll break the whole frustrated tension." Anya grinned a little, "And this way, if he becomes a king with a nation instead of a hereditary king in exile, I might be able to have a future as one of his meddling advisors instead of depending on the hospitality of Rivendell for the rest of my life."

"Ambitious," Elrond gave a small chuckle. "Do you know which they will choose?"

"They'll probably at least look into what it would take to change the politics. I have no idea if they'll go for it or give up before they begin," Anya shrugged.

"In my younger years, I might have taken that as a slight against my daughter's ability to complete a task that she sets her mind to accomplishing," Elrond settled at one of the tables. "But you are not certain that she has accepted the task yet, are you?"

"While many things are said of your daughter, I haven't heard anyone accuse her of being a fool. She's going to look into what it would take to unite those nations, and then figure out if she wants to try it. At the very best, it'll be a lot of work," Anya shook her head, and wondered how much of Arwen's likeliness to accomplish this political restructuring would be for the challenge, and how much to have her father's blessing to have her scruffily handsome ranger. "You'd know better than I how likely she is to let the scale of the task convince her not to try."

"Hmmm," the frown accompanying that noise suggested that he had an idea what Arwen might do, and he didn't care for his thoughts. "It would be a large undertaking."

"Very large," Anya agreed. "And I'm not going to be meddling any further."

"Because you are opposed to meddling?" One eyebrow lifted in an expression of disbelief.

"Because I don't know enough about the situation to meddle to any benefit," Anya admitted. "I've got them thinking about it, and I don't know enough to be any more help at this point. If they succeed, I can benefit. If they decide not to go forward with the idea… well, I don't know that I benefit, but I don't lose anything. But I don't think I'd like them to go out and fail with pain and injury and maybe death. They seem likeable enough that I might get upset."

"Which you would prefer to avoid," Elrond's voice was dry.

"Doesn't everyone prefer to avoid getting upset? Don't most prefer that people they consider likeable not get mangled or killed? I don't know either of them well enough for more than fondness," Anya decided not to mention that she also found Strider quite pleasant to look at, but that wasn't due to his personality. "I'm just a bit blunter about saying such things."

"And if I were to tell you…" Elrond paused, for a moment considering his words before he finished his sentence. "If I were to say that your future was not tied to the success of failure of their efforts to unite Gondor and Arnor?"

Anya had some wildly unlikely ideas about what other options she might have. Images of ripping those silken robes from his body and doing interesting things on the table. Of sneaking into his room to wake him up in a few very personal ways. She tried to calm her hormones, and smiled, certain that she was blushing. "I still would prefer they didn't get maimed or killed. But it's nice to have options, and I'd be interested in learning what those options might be. Some options have more appeal than others."

"And there is no need to be over-hasty," Elrond mused.

"Being too hasty can cause problems all by itself," Anya agreed. She'd seen more than a few examples of that over the last thousand years.

"Perhaps you would be willing to spend some time with some of the craftsmen of Rivendell? To compare your bits of knowledge with some of the knowledge of our home?" The wistful note to his voice suggested that he had some sort of hopes and perhaps daydreams that he wasn't quite willing to mention yet.

"I think I'd like that," Anya smiled at him. She wasn't certain what ideas he might have, though she had her own ideas and suspicions. But skill with magic could almost always be useful.

"There might also be the benefit that spending time studying magic would keep you too busy for further meddling," Elrond smiled at her.

Anya just laughed. She'd let him think that magic lessons would keep her too busy to meddle if it helped him feel better.

End part 9.


End file.
